


Momento Mori

by eris223



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Ann!Clarke, Anne!Lexa, Clexa Pride Week 2020, F/F, Georgian era romance with a twist, Vampires, but you don’t have to know GJ to read this, inspired by Gentleman Jack, the twist is vampires, tragically romantic but don’t worry clexa lives!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris223/pseuds/eris223
Summary: Miss Alexandra Woods has been away from Shibden Hall for a decade, traveling the continent and distancing herself from her family when word of a potential crisis lures her back to her shabby little home.Timid and demure Miss Clarke Griffin never dared to hope she’d see her again, but a twist of fate and a dangerous accident sends her careening towards the woman she’s harbored affections for since she was young.Things are never as simple as they appear, and Clarke and Lexa must face the true nature of their very beings before dark deeds threaten to keep them apart.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 69
Kudos: 180





	1. Alea iacta est

**Author's Note:**

> Clexa Pride Week 2020: Day One - Artist and Creators Collaboration/Inspiration
> 
> Inspired by @dontcha-wanheda's awesome manip that I will add here when she eventually posts it online...

Lexa Woods was fiercely proud of her ancestral home, despite its current crumbling stature. 

Shibden Hall, in all its potential glory, sat on a vast swath of land peppered with trees and rolling greens. Its ramshackle roof absorbed the full, shimmering moonlight, and Lexa sighed as she stared at her bedraggled grounds.

She pulled at the high collar circling her neck, as necessary a piece of clothing as much as it was an eccentric fashion choice, and cleared her throat. The itch the fabric pulled from the sensitive skin above her collarbone was bothersome, to say the least, but this was no time for minor displeasures. Nothing short of a crisis could have called her back to Yorkshire. And a crisis this was. 

She dropped her hand, set her shoulders, and marched, with formidable purpose, towards her shabby little home.

*******

“Care for a brandy, Miss Griffin? Quite the tumble you took.”

Clarke offered a small smile to the acting lady of the house. “I’m-”

“Pour the brandy, dear.” Her mother answered for her, waving her hand towards their host, Miss Beatrice Woods. “It was no mere tumble Clarke suffered. That man should be strung up! Racing through, as he was. We were just out for a walk when we managed to avoid him, didn’t we? Lucky I was there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Griffin,” Miss Woods nodded, uncapping the elegant glass decanter in the corner. “I can see that Miss Griffin looks none the worse, thanks to your quick actions. Stopped the bleeding and set the wound. Halifax is proud to have a doctor like you around.”

Clarke nodded, meek and mouse-like, content to let her mother do the vast majority of the talking. Simple pleasantries didn’t entice her at the moment. Not when she was sitting in this drawing-room. Shibden’s drawing-room. The drawing-room that _she_ doubtlessly paced about on numerous occasions.

Had she sat in this very settee? Had her fingertips graced the dulled fabric, grown soft by years of use? Is this where she lied when-

“You know,” her mother nudged Clarke with a subtle elbow, pulling her back into the tedious present. She winced as her fresh wound throbbed at the contact but accepted the offered brandy from their waiting host. She smiled at Beatrice, and Clarke took a small sip, relishing the warm burn in her throat as her mother prattled on.

“You reminded me of your elder sister. The way you came to our rescue, ready and capable. You were calm, took charge, decisive. Exactly what Miss Woods would have done. Didn’t I say that, Clarke? I said to her - This is exactly what Miss Woods would have done.”

That stung the younger Woods as it should have. Clarke hid her sympathy grimace behind her brandy, and Abby, uninterested in Miss Woods’s apparent discomfort, took a quick sip of her drink. “How is she? Miss Woods. What is she up to?”

Clarke perked up at the direct mention and unable to contain herself, exclaimed, “Alexandra? Oh-”

“She’s-”

“Miss Woods has arrived, miss,” the Woods’ housekeeper, Brell, if Clarke remembered correctly, entered after a sharp knock.

“She’s here?” Beatrice gasped. “Already?”

“In Halifax, ma’am,” Brell nodded. “Sent Ryder ahead to prepare for her arrival. She had business to attend in town before returning home.”

Beatrice took the news on the chin, sighing as she dejectedly placed her glass on the table beside her. “I didn’t expect her until tomorrow evening at the earliest.”

“Must be something important, ma’am,” Brell explained, her tone taking on that of an excited child recalling a captivating tale. “Ryder said the high-flier looked ready to topple with how fast it was traveling. Said the handbrake screeched like a banshee when she pulled it to a stop!”

“She was-” Beatrice stuttered. “Lexa was driving?”

“Ma’am,” Brell nodded.

“Of course she was.”

Clarke bit her lip to contain her laughter. It would appear that Miss Woods still lived, more or less, up to the memory of the woman she’d known ten years ago.

*******

Voices echoed along the old wood as she strode through the familiar hallways, and Lexa hastened her step.

“Miss Woods-” Brell shuffled to catch up to her, wiping her wet hands on the tattered apron she wore. Another thing Lexa would need to attend to while home. Proper attire for her staff. Wonderful.

“Not now, Brell,” Lexa dismissed as she walked on. “My sister. Where is she?”

“In the drawing-room, ma’am,” Brell conceded, and Lexa took a right at the end of the hall. 

“Miss Woods,” Brell called after her. “We have-”

Eager to get to the business that called her home, Lexa pushed the heavy door open. “Tris-” 

Lexa froze.

Tris popped up from her chair like a frightened hare, but she wasn’t the only one suddenly standing. 

“Mrs. Griffin.” Lexa took the few yards to her guest in a second, offering her hand and a dazzling smile.

“Miss Woods!” Mrs. Abigail Griffin shook her hand, beaming from ear to ear. “How delightful. We had no idea you were returning. Let alone tonight.”

“Well,” Lexa raised her eyebrows and threw Tris a look. “It wasn’t exactly the plan, but here we are.”

A metallic bouquet tickled her nose, and Lexa’s gaze landed on an out-of-place bowl resting on the table. Deep crimson stained the white rags that spilled over the ceramic basin, and Lexa sucked in a sharp breath as her muscles coiled and stiffened.

A sudden movement pulled her attention from the bloodied rags to the third person in the room. A woman she hadn’t noticed when she entered, hidden behind her mother’s full skirts, but a woman she recognized instantly. 

“Miss Griffin. Good lord,” Lexa let her eyes drift up and down the voluptuous yet tastefully dressed lady before her, a far cry from the gangly girl she’d known over a decade ago. “You’ve grown up.”

The flushed cheeks she was rewarded, coupled with the soft smile, sent a pleasant shiver galloping through Lexa’s body, a feeling most foreign with how long it had been since she’d experienced it. 

She’d had her dalliances over the years, for certain, but nothing that genuinely captivated her, that made her body almost betray her. 

Lexa set her jaw, delighted in this new development, but the pleasure was fleeting, and Lexa’s stomach dropped at the sight of Clarke’s right arm wrapped expertly with a fresh bandage. 

“What’s happened?” Lexa leveled a finger towards Tris. “Why is there a bowl full of bloodied rags on the drawing-room table and an injured lady in our home at this hour?”

Tris squared her shoulders. “There’s been an accident. On Woods Road-”

“What kind of accident? Is everyone alright?”

“My daughter took the brunt of it, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Griffin stepped forward, the somber note of her voice only betrayed by the twinkle in her eye. Lexa stowed that oddity away for later and focused instead on the story being laid before her. 

“We just managed to dodge the carriage. The man can’t have thrown a look behind, and we were scattered to the four corners! But no need to worry, Miss Woods. I’ve seen to Clarke here.”

“Indeed you have,” Lexa nodded towards Mrs. Griffin before addressing her daughter. “And how are you feeling, Miss Griffin?”

“I’m…” Clarke pulled at her bandage as she searched for words. A fresh stain of blood seeped through the white fabric, a stark contrast impossible to ignore. The coppery odor ravaged Lexa’s senses, but she kept her face as impassive as she could, waiting for an honest answer that she was sure wouldn’t come. Not when two other pairs of eyes were watching. 

In the end, Lexa was proven right as Clarke’s propriety and manners won out. “I’m well. Thank you.”

“Good.” Lexa gave a sharp nod in the direction of her guests before locking eyes with Tris. 

The gesture had its intended effect, and Clarke, the observant little mouse, stepped forwards, her voice soft over the crackle of the fireplace, and addressed Tris. “Thank you, Miss Woods. For your hospitality. In our time of need.”

“Your sister was a bit of a savior tonight, Miss Woods,” Mrs. Griffin interjected. 

“Really?”

Mrs. Griffin leaned forwards, smirking as if she were about to divulge a sensational piece of gossip, and whispered, “She reminded me of you. Must be the good Woods name.”

Lexa ignored the underlying jab against her family and instead offered her hand. “Mrs. Griffin-” Lexa turned to the other woman “-Miss Griffin.” 

Clarke’s skin was lightning. Hot and electric, exuberant and brilliant. The very touch sent a shock hastening throughout Lexa’s body. How she kept hold of her composure was undoubtedly a miracle, and Lexa thanked her younger self for the foresight to practice controlling her most instinctual impulses. 

She released her firm grasp but let her fingertips linger a moment to revel in the soft skin and charged contact—a hitch of breath. A gasp so delicate no other living person could possibly fathom to hear.

But Lexa heard.

She met Miss Griffin in a stare, her eyes as blue as the ever-elusive cloudless afternoon sky, and dare she hope to dream that this sudden spark of attraction and captivation was reciprocated? Was Miss Griffin amenable to love affairs with the fairer sex?

The question stretched into oblivion, but before she could determine the answer, the two Griffin women departed from her home.

The bustle of Clarke’s petticoats had not yet been lost on the wind outside Shibden when passion took over.

“Miss Griffin,” Lexa called, pulling Clarke to a stop, her hand retreating from the carriage handle. 

“Perhaps I should call on you?” Lexa smiled to hide the anticipation bubbling in her belly. “Tomorrow evening. To see the progress of your recovery. And, of course, receive your account of the accident. We must find the culprit who ran you off our road.”

“Is that necessary?” Mrs. Griffin popped her head out from the carriage.

“Most certainly,” Lexa stated with extraordinary confidence and self-assuredness. She was, after all, the mistress of Shibden Hall. Chosen by her late uncle to guide and govern the prominent estate they stood in, to be in charge, to keep order and prosperity. To see to it that her tenants and the people who traveled here were well looked after. 

She winked at Miss Griffin. “A careless carriage driver is a danger to us all.”

“Tomorrow evening,” Clarke conceded. Trying to hide the flush Lexa noticed straight away, or unwilling to maintain the intense eye contact Lexa was gifting her, she dropped her eyes. “You are most welcome in my home, Miss Woods.”

Utterly delighted with the explicit invitation, Lexa smiled bold and bright. “Miss Griffin,” she nodded one final time.

When the pair were well off in their travels home, Lexa strode back into the drawing-room, eager to get to it. 

“Was it him?”

Tris slumped down into the chair closest to the fire. She warmed her hands in front of it, not bothering to face Lexa, a fact that prickled the back of her neck.

“From the description? Yes,” Tris bit. “No doubt alerted and agitated by _your_ return.”

“You know very well, Beatrice,” Lexa lingered on her younger sister’s full name. “That my return was out of my control.”

“It always is. You never think about how you being here is a danger-”

“Oh, this again?” Lexa laughed through her teeth. “Of course.”

Tris stood from her chair, crossing the room to stand nose to nose with Lexa. “It’s about you and your lack of respect for your family when you’re not even-”

“You’ve got to let this go, Tris,” Lexa shook her head and settled the fire roaring in her chest. She wouldn’t take the bait for an out of control argument that, quite frankly, had been hashed out far too many times before. “It’s becoming an obsession.”

“I shall end it,” Tris stuttered out, her face reddening. “I shall end it and-”

“Oh really. Oh good,” Lexa snarked. It wasn’t the first time she had threatened to end things, as it were, and it wouldn’t be the last. Little Tris may have wits of steel, but she was no killer. So Lexa sighed as her sister kept prattling on.

“And I shall become the mistress of Shibden.”

“Congratulations.”

“And-” Tris chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous tick she’d developed during childhood. “And we won’t have to worry about you and your unnatural-”

Lexa had enough and held up her hand. “Well, you’d better look sharp about it, Tris, because you are only getting older.”

“You,” Tris seethed, blossoming a brilliant scarlet on her neck. “You are playing with fire, and you shall burn.”

*******

The grey day crawled on, covering Crow’s Nest with a fine mist of water. Clarke followed a particular droplet as it gathered mass and slid down her drawing-room window.

The clock over the mantle ticked on, soothing in its rhythm but irritating in its slow progress. Miss Woods’s arrival still laid hours away. Clarke placed her unread book off to the side, far too anxious about her future engagement to dive into the depths of the words. 

The thought of Miss Woods soon lounging on the settee beside her, chatting about the day’s dreary weather or the country’s new reforms, of her gazing into Clarke’s eyes with that desire she saw last night, it all thrilled her more than it should.

A light knock rapped on the heavy door, and the kind face of her footman popped into view. “Miss Woods to see you, ma’am.”

Clarke hid her surprise well, smiling softly to conceal her sudden lack of breathing. “Yes, of course, Jasper. Send her in.”

He nodded a quick farewell and disappeared down the hall. His footsteps grew faint until a murmur of voices and the clack of heeled shoes seeped through the ornate wood walls. 

Desperate for an outlet for her sudden nervous energy, Clarke picked at her bandage. The injury itched greatly where her mother had stitched it closed the night before, but it was healing well. No sign of infection, which was to be expected, but always a risk when open wounds were considered.

The door inched open once more.

Miss Alexandra Woods, alluring, captivating, proud, and powerful, sauntered into the drawing-room with a smile that could disarm even the fiercest of hunters, and Clarke was caught well off guard.

“Miss Griffin. I apologize for dropping in earlier than we agreed, but-”

“No need,” Clarke regained her wits and gestured towards the many sitting options in the finely decorated room. “Please, sit.”

Miss Woods chose the open seat nearest her, and Clarke’s heart failed in its rhythm. The proximity of this woman was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was terrifying that, despite all of her teachings, all of her lessons about how to react properly in such presence, she was rendered a scattered mess in the manner of moments.

“How are you feeling?”

Miss Woods dipped her chin towards Clarke’s arm, and she involuntarily scratched at the bandage. But with her earlier pestering of the wound, it broke open, and a fresh stain of blood seeped through. She pressed her hand tight over the cut.

“Sore,” Clarke admitted through pressed lips. “It seems a bit angry this afternoon.”

“I see.”

The clipped tone pulled Clarke’s gaze from her wound to Miss Woods. She sat stiff and upright, a distinct shift from the relaxed and comfortable posture only moments ago.

Clarke hastened to pull her sleeve down over the bandage, and as soon as it was out of sight and much to Clarke’s relief, Miss Woods smiled again. “Do you know,” she leaned forward, conspirator-like. “I haven’t been in this room in years.”

“It was after my father died. You visited me, Miss Woods.”

“Come now; we’re friends, aren’t we?” Miss Woods shook her head. “I think we’re comfortable enough to discard the formalities, Clarke.”

Clarke could not help the sudden flush that bubbled from her chest at the sound of her name uttered so casually. And the way she said it, wrapped her tongue around the a, that over-pronunciation of the consonants, it was disarming.

Clarke swallowed down her futile onslaught of emotions and nodded. “Alright, Alexandra.” 

Alexandra shot her hand forward, resting it delicately on Clarke’s leg. It was cool and calming. 

“Lexa, please. Only my aunt calls me Alexandra when she deems a scolding in order.”

Lexa’s fingers squeezed gently, and Clarke locked eyes with the creature in front of her. Those intensely green eyes glimmered even in the dull light of the gloomy day, and a bubbling, a tingle, brewed in the pit of her belly. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or desire, perhaps both. 

Clarke clambered for an escape and excuse to get back to more pertinent matters. She sucked in a breath and rambled the first thing that came to her mind. 

“He died quite suddenly, my father. I don’t know if you remember, you came for tea. We walked in the garden. You probably had no idea at the time, but you made my whole world a bit brighter that day. I remember it precisely.”

Lexa beamed, but there was a sadness behind those unnaturally emerald eyes. A melancholy that bewildered Clarke.

“I do remember it,” Lexa almost whispered as she pulled at the high collar encircling her neck. “I remember everything.”

*******

Lexa startled as a warm hand engulfed her own. 

Who was this woman before her? So much more to her than what she’d worked out the night before. Clarke Griffin was observant and kind, quiet to the point of dull docility, but there was a guard around her. A bulwark built tall and strong. And Lexa was determined to scale it.

Or perhaps break right through.

Lexa took only a moment before she flipped her hand round. Their palms connected, and their fingers interlaced. Clarke offered her a genuine smile of sympathy. The same smile Lexa bestowed upon her on that day.

Yes, she remembered the day Clarke spoke of. She remembered it well. How could she not? It was the last day she spent in the world of sunlight, the last day she was wholly human. 


	2. Dulce periculum

“So, you’re saying that Mr. Wallace has shameful intentions then?” 

Clarke’s throat bobbed upwards once and then down again. Lexa followed the movement, enraptured and bothered, but encouraging her dark compulsions to the side was something she’d mastered early on in her eternal life. 

She nodded once, a low smirk on her face. “Oh, most certainly, as do many people in the world. It’s just that Mr. Wallace has a particular proclivity for sinister deeds where I am concerned.”

Despite the gravity of the topic of discussion, Lexa’s chest swelled with warmth. Clarke, at first glance, a demure lady, had proven to be quite loquacious and pleasantly so.

“Surely not,” Clarke gasped, covering her heart with a delicate hand. Lexa’s gaze flicked down with the movement, but her focus soon drifted back up, lingering on the subtle curve of Clarke’s neck before locking on to her playful eyes. 

“I assure you his vile intentions run deep. It is he whom, based on your description, I suspect of your accident, Miss Griffin.”

Clarke dipped her chin as if embarrassed, but her tone, while still delicate and subdued, was anything but. “I thought we were past formalities.”

“Indeed.”

“Would you care for a walk? In the garden. It’s nice, sometimes, to breathe in the fresh air. It clears the mind of sorrows and responsibilities.”

Lexa startled at the sharp change in subject matter, but Clarke perked up brighter than a full moon, her smile contagious, and Lexa found herself helpless to refute such a display. “I, too, find solace in a jaunty walk now and then.”

The blanket of dark grey clouds still hid the tortuous sun, and with one final look at Clarke, keen and eager, Lexa’s mind was settled. She stood from the settee, offering her hand. “Come, let us forget our woes and focus on something beautiful instead.”

*******

Clarke fluttered her eyes shut as they passed from the stone-laid path to the hardened earth. She’d walked the grounds many times, but it never ceased to astonish her. The smell of the flowers and the greenery, heightened by the late winter mist, invaded her senses.

It was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the company she currently kept. 

Clarke pulled to a stop, and Lexa paused beside her. The gentle brush of the back of her hand against Clarke’s sent a sharp shiver down her spine, but she forced it away.

The affection she harbored wasn’t proper. It opposed everything she’d learned, and yet, it seemed as inevitable as the sun setting every evening.

“Lexa,” Clarke murmured. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She craved- no, required- to know, to be certain. “Why have you been away?”

Lexa turned towards her. The mist gathered atop her hat flicked cold droplets of water across Clarke’s face, and she flinched.

Lexa clicked her tongue between her teeth and smirked as she wiped the water from Clarke’s cheeks. “Many reasons.”

Clarke hastened to swallow down the begrudging flush rising from her chest. Lexa’s fingertips were soft and gentle, and despite everything, Clarke didn’t want those fingers to retract. She reached up, holding that hand against her cheek.

Lexa’s sharp intake of breath was audible over the nearby stream, and Clarke beamed. “You tease.”

Lexa removed her hand at once, scoffing as she stood there, indignant. “I do not.”

“You do.” Clarke’s mirth burst into the open, surprising herself and, most notably, Lexa. “You’re teasing me right now. Suggesting an interesting story but keeping it to yourself. You must tell me.”

Lexa’s face hardened, but her tone remained gentle. “It’s not nearly as captivating as you imagine.”

Clarke recognized the hesitation and almost let it go, but the urgency to be sure won out, and she pushed just a bit farther. “I think I should be the judge of that.”

“Indeed,” Lexa raised her eyebrows, and at that moment, Clarke sensed her victory. Lexa nodded once, mostly to herself, and took off walking yet again. “Alright, I shall tell you.”

Clarke beamed and matched Lexa’s remarkable stride.

“The day you spoke of, ten years ago,” Lexa stared straight ahead as if unwilling to look Clarke in the eyes as she spoke. “I left Crow’s Nest, and on my way back to Shibden, he approached me with his previous proposal. For what I hoped would be the final time, I, most firmly, declined Mr. Cage Wallace’s offer of marriage.”

“Marriage? To Mr. Wallace? Cage Wallace?” Clarke guffawed. She thought herself well-informed of Miss Woods and Mr. Wallace’s dealings, but this was truly a revelation. An alarming discovery that the circumstances were not as simple as she’d once thought. Clarke compelled her body to keep breathing as normal.

“Believe me, I find it as appalling as you,” Lexa nodded once. “But yes, he was under the impression that connecting our two families would be financially prosperous. You see, Clarke, Mr. Wallace has wanted something I have had for a while now. Something he’s willing to do almost anything for.”

“And what’s that?”

“My land.”

Clarke furrowed her eyebrows, desperate to puzzle together the information she attained. “But doesn’t he have his own?”

“He does,” Lexa glanced towards her. “But his does not contain the resources he desires.”

Clarke sighed. Of course. Mr. Wallace and his brother had been in the business for years. Every man, woman, and child in Halifax knew of it, even diffident little Miss Clarke Griffin. “Coal.”

“Very good, Miss Griffin.” Lexa’s eyes gleamed with pride, and Clarke tugged at the sleeves of her dress, an anxious response to the unwanted overwhelming happiness coursing through her. 

“But-” Clarke tucked her hands into fists, burying her emotions. “What does this have to do with you being away from Shibden?”

“I was attacked.”

“What?” Clarke froze in place. Lexa stopped with her but didn’t falter in her memory.

“That night, after I rejected Mr. Wallace, I was walking home much later than I anticipated, and something-” Lexa breathed deeply, stealing her body for the remainder of her tale. “Something from the shadows grabbed me. I couldn’t stay in Yorkshire after that. I was a danger to my family, to everyone around me. I had to leave, you see.”

Water burned behind Clarke’s eyes, and only out of sheer determination did the tears remain at bay. That was the night that changed everything.

*******

Lexa hadn’t a grasp on what compelled her to reveal the details of that night. It was an event she held close to her chest, ashamed of being caught unaware and ill-prepared. She simply did not share those weaknesses. Ever.

But there was something about this woman, calling to her like a siren at sea, and Lexa was naught but a lost sailor desperate to find solace on anything firm, anything real. 

Clarke was real and standing right before her, gazing deep into her eyes with a melancholy that would have pulled her heart to a stutter if it beat as it once did. And Lexa was hopeless. Entirely and utterly tragic in her presence. So she confessed the truth of that night, hiding, of course, the grim reality of its consequences, for even the compassionate and kind Miss Griffin was ill prepared for that revelation.

Unable to bear the sympathy radiating from Clarke’s brilliant and lively gaze, Lexa turned away from her and took tremendous strides to distance herself before the emotions could betray her.

But she was forced to a stop. “Oh-“ 

A splendid garden glittered against the sunless afternoon sky. A few early blooms fluttered in the wind, sending dewy droplets of water to the ground, and Lexa was rendered speechless. 

Dozens of rose bushes dotted the tucked-away garden; ivy crawled up the archway, masking the stone entirely. It was magnificent, and Lexa couldn’t even fathom the depths of its beauty in the spring and sunlight.

“I don’t recall your garden being so lovely.”

“I-” Clarke stuttered, dipping her chin low and whispering. “I had it done. After that day. You loved the few roses that had bloomed, and I-” she sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I suppose I wanted to impress you.”

Miss Griffin. Harboring these affections for years. Had Lexa known her sentiments were reciprocated, perhaps they would be years into their romance or relationship or whatever this was instead of just reacquainting.

Regret pummeled through her, and Lexa dared to reach for Clarke’s delicate hands. “My dear Miss Griffin, you honor me.”

“It’s my favorite place.”

A clap of thunder reverberated over the grounds, and the heavens themselves split apart. Rain fell, threatening to soak Lexa’s clothes in a manner of moments. 

Lexa tugged on the hands in hers and led them under a grand willow tree. Hidden under its encompassing leaves, the outside world dissolved. No thoughts of Mr. Wallace perforated her mind. No attention to her true grim nature prickled her heart. Nothing remained but the glorious woman in front of her.

Clarke’s penetrating gaze flittered from Lexa’s eyes down to her parted lips, and even without her preternaturally dark gifts, Lexa would have heard the wanting gasp that escaped Clarke’s mouth.

A ballet of a thousand emotions played across that gingerly alluring face, and all the while, Lexa stood, still as a statue, for she feared even the slightest movement would send Clarke scurrying away.

But then Clarke leaned forward, her breath ghosting over Lexa’s frozen skin, and the delicate press of soft lips warmed the apple of her cheek.

Clarke retreated only enough to change the angle, and another gentle kiss graced the corner of Lexa’s lips. She turned her head a fraction, catching Clarke’s lips before they could abandon Lexa fully. 

Nothing in her memory compared to this lover’s embrace. 

Lexa encircled one arm around Clarke’s small waist and pulled her close, keeping their lips together in ardor’s astonishing dance. Seemingly as unable to refrain from touch as she was, Clarke cupped Lexa’s cheek. Lexa tightened her hold, terrified this moment would wash away with the rain pouring down on them.

“Clarke,” Lexa breathed when they parted.

A melodious laugh blanketed Lexa’s body, pulling a most luxurious smile from her lips. But just as suddenly as the elation started, Clarke’s expression fell. It was as if the soul eradicated itself from Clarke’s very chest. 

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke panicked. “I shouldn’t have-”

“No-” Lexa shook her head and removed herself from Clarke’s touch. As agonizing as rejection was, it was nothing Lexa hadn’t endured before. “No, Clarke. Don’t apologize. There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“Lexa, you don’t understand. It’s not-” tears welled up in the corner of her eyes, turning them a more brilliant blue. “I’m not-“

Lexa took another step backwards, closing her heart with the distance. “I’ll go. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

She did not wait for a response. Lexa walked away, surrendering her affections to Clarke under the willow tree. 

The rain soaked her to the bone, but it was a minor inconvenience. Physical discomforts no longer had the same annoyance or precedence as they once did. She hadn’t felt the true bite of cold in a decade, and she was confident the freezing water would be no danger to her health.

But, it would seem that matters of the heart were an entirely different story. Despite her endless experience of rejection, this particular one landed hard. In a single afternoon, Miss Clarke Griffin had managed to win Lexa’s affection. Her mind, body, and non-existent soul belonged to Clarke and Clarke alone. 

Lexa fought the urge to rub the pain away from her chest. The image of Miss Griffin, water dripping from her delicate eyelashes as she stared, lips plump and cheeks rosy from their embrace, seared into Lexa’s mind.

“Ma’am? You shouldn’t be out in this weather. You’ll catch cold.”

Lexa whipped her head towards the young man. He stood beside a rickety cart stuck in the mud. “It seems you are in more trouble than I at the moment.”

“Aye, ma’am. Cart slipped, and I can’t get it upright.”

“Allow me to assist you.”

“S’alright, ma’am. I can-” 

Lexa ignored the boy’s brush off, and with ease that she masked behind a few well-timed grunts, lifted the wooden cart from the mud.

“Thank you,” he marveled, reaching out his hand.

Lexa recoiled.

In his effort, the poor lad broke open a reasonable gash along his palm. Blood soaked his hand, dripping with the rainwater to the ground.

Lexa went rigid. How long had it been since she’d fed?

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you okay?”

Lexa set her jaw tight and froze her lungs, not allowing even the slightest trace of the tempting scent to invade her senses. She nodded once and promptly fled down the road.

She could not afford to hunt in Halifax. These were her people, her neighbors, her tenants. They deserved her protection, not her predilection for atrocious deeds.

But certain tendencies could not be avoided. 

Lexa dashed down the road, only stopping to procure a gig in town. The way out of Halifax laid barren with the weather, but Lexa remained confident she would find someone suitable soon.

*******

Even through the bright eruption of smoke and light, Clarke kept her eyes trained on the target. She lowered her weapon, smirking as she spied the flawless round hole cut right through the middle of the target a few yards away.

“Pistol shooting again?”

Clarke dropped her shoulders at the sound of her mother’s denouncing voice, but she gave no answer as she unscrewed the barrel to load another shot.

“I do wish you wouldn’t practice out here for anyone to see.”

“Mother, there is no one around for miles.” Clarke took aim once more. She inhaled a deep, hearty breath and released it out slow and controlled as she squeezed the trigger. The deafening roar exploded, painting the perfect cloudless day in a puff of grey smoke. 

Clarke hung her pistol to the side and glanced at her mother, knowing very well that Abigail Griffin could not resist inspecting her skill, despite her disapproval of the practice.

“I suppose I should be proud,” her mother sighed as she faced Clarke with a plain face. “Sleep easy at the very least, knowing my daughter can defend herself efficiently.”

Clarke set her treasured family heirloom on the small wooden table beside her, and Abby traced the delicate silver inlay with her finger. “Your father loved this pistol like a child. Sometimes I wondered if it was more important to him. More important than, well…”

Abby sighed, offering a tight smile as she caught Clarke’s gaze. Clarke shifted her weight from one foot to the other and waited for her mother to say what she really came to say.

“So,” Abby inclined her head to the side, jaw tight, eyes on fire. “It’s been several days since Miss Woods’s visit.” 

Clarke dipped her chin, more inclined to stare at the vibrant green grass swaying with the late winter breeze than betray the assortment of emotions present on her face.

Four days. It had been four long, arduous days since she’d spoken to Lexa - since she’d kissed her. Firm yet supple, chilled yet lit with the fire of the sun. Clarke raised a hand to her mouth as if she could still feel those contradictory lips pressed against hers.

A flash of green. The harrowing pain of rejection.

Clarke pinched the brow of her nose, willing the image of Lexa walking away from her mind. But it didn’t work. It hadn’t worked.

The harder Clarke endeavored to suppress that horrid memory of Lexa, drenched and shattered, the harder it seemed to grasp onto her very being. 

In the days following the kiss, Clarke agonized over every single detail that led to it. How had she let herself feel like that? To lose all her composure, to lead with her heart and not her head. 

Lexa was not the sort of person Clarke should want. Everything Clarke had been taught told her as much, but Lexa proved to be precisely how she remembered her. Beautiful, intelligent, bold. That connection, that pull that was present all those years ago, remained, but it was now greater. 

Had all her education turned a lie?

No. No, certainly not. These feelings warring inside were wrong and dangerous. So dangerous. Lexa may seem to be the woman she once was, but time often changed even the strongest wills. And the truth of the matter was that Clarke had not fully discovered this new Miss Alexandra Woods. 

So yes, kissing Lexa was undoubtedly the most foolish thing she’d ever done in her entire life. And yet… 

All she wanted was to do it again.

Because after days of torture, of doubt, of dissecting every possible cause and mistake, of wondering what she could have done to stop her heart from leaping out of her chest every time that woman was in her presence, she came to one conclusion. 

Clarke Griffin harbored, profoundly and most decidedly, the warmest affections towards Alexandra Woods. And that fact was far more perilous than anything she’d encountered in her twenty-nine years of life. 

A compassionate hand rested on her shoulder, and Clarke sprung upright. Her mother squeezed with a gentle tenderness, smiling through knowing eyes. “Don’t be afraid, Clarke.”

“I’m not afraid,” Clarke whispered, her voice teetering on the edge of betrayal. “I’m terrified.”

Her mother nodded, soft and sure. She took a step forward and grasped Clarke’s quivering hands. “Use it. Take that fear, and make it work for you instead of against you.”

“Mother,” Clarke shook her head. “You don’t understand. I’m not afraid of what she is, I’m afraid of-”

Abby silenced Clarke with a bold squeeze of her hands. “The world will constantly tell you that it is the way it is - that things are as they should be. But you are your father’s daughter. You are _my_ daughter. We have the power to stand for something good. I know I’ve never held the same burden as you - and I never will - but you are extraordinary.”

“Thank you.”

“So you just have to do it. Find your answers, and do it.”

Clarke gathered the wayward tear on her fingertip and watched the teardrop descend towards the palm of her hand. As the droplet gained momentum, the worried bends of Clarke’s heart straightened. She caught her mother’s keen gaze.

“You’re right,” she whispered, afraid vocalizing it any louder would scare away her newfound nerve. “I will not overthink this anymore. I know what I must do.”

“Clarke, my child, you are so much stronger than anyone knows.”


	3. Aere perrenius

Clarke held her hand in the beam of low sunlight shimmering through the carriage. Tiny particles of the world swirled around her outstretched fingers, and Clarke marveled at their simplistic mystery.

“Ready, ma’am?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke closed her fist, sending the specks whirling in a frenzy. Jasper cleared his throat, silently asking if he should leave Clarke to her thoughts. With a sigh, she turned towards him and mustered the most agreeable smile she could. “I’m ready. Thank you, Jasper.”

Shibden Hall, none the grander in the soft orange of the late evening sky, loomed ahead of her, and before she could convince herself this was a truly terrible idea, Clarke made her way to the entrance.

“Miss Griffin,” Ryder answered the door. “How do.”

“I’m here to see Miss Woods.”

“Ma’am-“ he nodded and disappeared into the darkened hallway. 

The setting sun sent a myriad of shadows cascading along the old wood corridor. Candlelight flickered here and there, illuminating dark corners, and Clarke shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Miss Woods will see you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you.”

Clarke followed the footman through the very same halls she walked several nights ago and stopped in front of the familiar room. She eased the door open.

“Oh, Miss Woods,” Clarke squeaked. “I was hoping to see your sister.”

Beatrice sighed and set down her cup of tea. “Miss Woods is indisposed at the moment.”

The sun dipped below the horizon as Clarke offered a sheepish smile to her host. “I do hope she’s alright.”

“I’m certain she is.” Beatrice glanced across the room, and Clarke followed the movement. A mantle clock ticked as its minute hand eased forward—four forty-seven on the nose. 

A shuffle scratched on the wood above them, the sound of heavy furniture scraping across the floor, and before the sigh had left Beatrice’s chest, the drawing-room door opened.

“Ah, Miss Griffin,” Lexa stood with her hands behind her back, tall and proud. Her controlled smile gave away nothing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Good evening, Miss Woods.” Clarke took a breath to steady her nerves. “I was hoping-”

“Care for a walk? 

With barely a respectable goodbye to Beatrice, Clarke followed the elder Miss Woods through the manor and out to the grounds. Clarke trailed as a horse led to water, not a care in the world. It was foolish, reckless even, but Clarke didn’t have a mind to bother. She trusted Lexa, inexplicably so.

“Silence has its wonders,” Lexa’s soft voice cut through Clarke’s thoughts like butter. “But, I do believe yours masks a boisterous mind.”

“Sorry?” Clarke startled.

“Is everything alright, Clarke?” Lexa stopped walking, turning her body to face her. Her presence invaded Clarke’s entire being. Everything about her captivated Clarke. The way her skin shone in the freshly risen moonlight, the twinkle of her peacock-coloured eyes, the way she stood, walked, talked, thought—it was perfectly beguiling.

Her voice was quiet, timid, so unlike the confidence Lexa routinely exuded. “Is this about the other night? The kiss-”

Clarke silenced Lexa’s worries with a rather impulsive reaction. She leapt forward, encircling her arms around Lexa’s deceptively sound neck, and kissed her. Just as she’d longed to do for days.

Lexa froze in her grasp, but once the shock of the moment wore off, she wreathed her arms around Clarke’s waist, holding her close. The passion and fervor matched none of Clarke’s recollections, and her head swam with lustful and dangerous thoughts.

But Lexa was warm. Not as warm as another would be, but still soft and tender, exciting yet secure. Nothing like what Clarke expected, but everything nonetheless. 

Clarke’s heart thundered a swift cadence against her ribs as the embrace slowed. Lexa pulled away but kept her close enough to touch. A chilled hand traced Clarke’s cheek before traveling down between her breasts. Lexa rested her palm there, and Clarke fluttered her eyes closed.

“Your heartbeat, Miss Griffin. It pounds so swiftly.”

“You frighten me.”

“I know the feeling.”

Clarke opened her eyes to meet the honest gaze piercing through her. “I frighten you?”

“Indubitably.” Lexa slid her fingers into Clarke’s hand, holding on as if it was the answer to life’s greatest riddle. “I accepted a long time ago that I might never find love. Companionship perhaps, but not love. With you-” Lexa shook her head, and a soft smile soothed the hard lines of her face. “And I know it sounds completely daft—we’ve only just reacquainted, but Miss Griffin—Clarke, it’s been so long since I’ve felt this. You make me feel alive, and if I strain hard enough, my heart beats once more.”

Lexa took the hand she grasped and brought it to her chest. Clarke spared no effort, lost in the intoxication of being in her lover’s embrace, and it was there. Perhaps a trick of the mind, but a minute cadence beat against the palm of Clarke’s hand. 

“Lexa-” Her affection overwhelmed her, and tears flowed despite Clarke’s efforts. 

“It’s alright.” Lexa cleaned her heavy tears away as they fell. “You don’t have to reciprocate my sentiments. I know it was-”

Clarke shook her head faintly. “That’s not-”

“I can wait for a time if or when you’re-”

“Lexa,” Clarke interrupted once more, this time without her customary demure voice. Clarke stood straight and confident; she caught Lexa’s eyes and refused to let go. “Would you please allow me to finish?”

*******

The shift in Clarke’s face astonished Lexa. Where it was once subdued and timid, it sat hard and confident. Clarke’s entire body adjusted, and Lexa stood up straighter as Clarke paced about the darkening path.

“When my father died,” Clarke started, looking down to the ground as she recalled her memories. “He left me a task. A family responsibility, if you will. It was to be my brother’s, but he died years before. And so it fell to me. Do you see?”

She stopped her stride for a moment, pleading with Lexa to comprehend, but as quick-witted as Lexa was, nothing Clarke divulged held much meaning to her. 

Clarke, sensing her confusion, sighed and resumed her frantic canter. “So, I did my duty. I read, learned, and practiced. Lord knows how much I practiced. I joined The Order, and my first hunt—I succeeded. It was thrilling to win, to defeat it. And over the years, I discovered that while being the fairer sex, I could get closer than any of the others because no one suspects the quiet, well-mannered, mousy, little Miss Griffin. No one dares to think that such a person, a _woman,_ could be capable of what I am.”

Clarke hardly took a breath as she reached into her bodice’s folds and produced a concealed knife. She twirled it about from finger to finger in a deadly dance of nervous energy. 

Lexa only watched on, utterly bewildered by the turn of events.

“And when he came to me, when he revealed what you truly are, Lexa, I didn’t want to believe it. Not you.” Clarke caught her eye, and in that microscopic moment, Lexa saw it—the flash of fear. Her non-beating heart dropped. But before she could react, Clarke babbled on.

“It’s my duty. And I knew. Oh, Lexa, I knew I could persuade you to open up to me, to trust me. And it’s so much simpler to hunt when they trust you. So I arranged for the accident. And it worked. It worked too well, really.”

“It was a ruse.” Eviscerated and betrayed, Lexa’s knees gave out beneath her. She dropped to the ground, covering her face, wholly and utterly heartbroken. “It was just a lie to gain my trust.” 

“Yes.”

“You know what I am.”

“I do. I confirmed it this evening when you appeared at sunset.”

“Get on with it then.” Lexa opened her arms wide and inviting. The offer was clear and only waiting for Clarke to claim. There was no need to fight it. Clarke had her heart; she might as well take her immortal life.

Clarke recoiled as if an unseen hand struck her beautiful face. With a single deft movement, she tucked her knife back into the folds of her dress and grasped Lexa’s hands. Lexa allowed the surprisingly strong and able arms to lift her. 

“Haven’t you been listening?” Clarke choked back her tears.

“I’ve been listening quite well, Miss Griffin.”

“Lexa,” Clarke shook her head. “I’m in love with you. I think I’ve always been in love with you. I didn’t even realize something was missing until that missing piece returned.”

“Clarke-”

“I don’t care what you are. I love who you are; you’re exactly who I remember you to be. That hasn’t changed. And I know I’m supposed to fear you, to hunt you. I thought I could, but you’ve enchanted me yet again. The world isn’t as black or white as I’d thought. You are a shade of grey—a beautiful mix of the light and the dark.”

Clarke finally took a breath, gazing at Lexa, wide-eyed and full of dreams, but Lexa needed her to acknowledge the truth of her existence. “I’ve killed.”

“So have I.”

The weight of those words, the macabre hope they inspired, sunk on Lexa’s chest. Miss Griffin was more a match than she ever anticipated. “What are we to do?”

“I-” Clarke shook her head. “I don’t know.” She covered her mouth with her hand, a poor attempt to stifle the laughter bursting from her chest.

Clarke’s levity proved infectious yet again, and Lexa’s cheeks soon ached with the wide grin she sported. “We are quite a ridiculous pair.”

“Quite,” Clarke laughed.

Lexa grasped Clarke’s hand and dallied with those dexterous fingers. “The hunter in love with the hunted.”

Clarke brought their intertwined hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to Lexa’s palm. “A hunter in love with her hunted.”

Lexa smirked because, yes, they were two dangerous creatures in love with the one they should fear. The unhurried kiss sprawled into the starry night as the moon rose above their heads, and when they eventually parted, Lexa held Clarke close. 

Clarke burrowed into her chest, and Lexa pressed a long kiss to the top of her blonde curls. “This should be exciting,” she smiled into the night.

*******

Clarke rummaged through the desk drawer, pushing aside the embroidery kit and stray spools of thread she hadn’t touched in years. “Ah-ha,” she exclaimed as her fingers wrapped around the small leather-bound book. 

A long and lithe arm encircled her waist, and she angled her head to the side, providing daring access to her vulnerable skin. Cool lips brushed the hollow of her neck, and Clarke did not try to suppress the desperate sigh that escaped her chest. She turned, catching Lexa in a kiss that felt as dangerous as it was necessary. 

Lexa leaned back, her eyes still closed, her mouth upturned in a delicate smile, and Clarke’s heart compressed in on itself. That pang of longing and desire, of love and inevitability, wrapped up in the most tender expression written on the handsome and pale face before her. 

Clarke leaned in once more. Just a thoughtful press of lips that they held far longer than she anticipated. She pulled away, tracing Lexa’s sharp jaw. 

“This is not the research we’re meant to be doing.” Lexa’s gentle voice caught as Clarke’s wandering fingers glanced over the odd collar she always seemed to wear.

“Well, stop being so distracting,” Clarke teased, leaning her body a little farther into Lexa’s embrace.

“I can do no such thing.”

The blunt delivery and conviction in Lexa’s tone pulled a most unexpected chuckle from the depths of Clarke’s chest. “Were you always this confident?” she laughed. “Or is it a recent development?”

Lexa merely shrugged her shoulders and raised a perfect brow. The expression was entirely pompous and irritating, so of course, Clarke’s affections only amplified.

With a roll of her eyes, Clarke pressed the leather book into Lexa’s chest. “Here.”

Their fingers brushed as the journal transferred, and a rush, a tingle coursed from that cold skin through Clarke. But the sensation was fleeting, and the mood of the entire room shifted.

“Are you sure you approve of me reading this?” Lexa held Clarke’s gaze, sincere and cautious.

“I trust you,” Clarke nodded. “Besides, I do believe you’re far more qualified to read and write on the subject of vampirism than my father was.”

“I’m not.” 

Clarke opened her mouth to ask how that could possibly be, but as if she could read her mind, Lexa shook her head and explained. “I had to figure out everything on my own. I had no master, example, nor guide. I cannot tell you how many times I almost died. Again.”

Before Clarke could offer any sort of condolences, Lexa lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and opened the journal. The sound of pages turning was Clarke’s only comfort and distraction as she observed the tantalizing woman perched so close to the setting of the many fantasies Clarke had indulged in over the years. But now was not quite the time for such salacious thoughts.

Lexa sat silent, absorbing the information on the pages at a voracious speed, and Clarke could only imagine the emotions that must be coursing through Lexa at the moment. For the first time, she discovered what hunters, such as Clarke, knew about her kind, how Clarke’s father had studied, and learned the most efficient methods to slay them, how Clarke would have attempted to do that very thing.

The soft snap of the journal closing pulled Clarke from her mind. Lexa sat still as the night, and Clarke settled next to her, the bed dipping slightly under their combined weight.

“I’m impressed with what your father was able to piece together over the years. And this repeated name—any thoughts on who this may be?”

Clarke leaned close, the soft bouquet of roses invading her senses, as she inspected the name Lexa’s long and lithe finger indicated on the yellowed page.

“Gavriil,” Clarke read. “He appears in several of my father’s journals. I always assumed he was a mentor or an informant of sorts. Why? Is it familiar to you?”

“Perhaps,” was all Lexa whispered before her chin lowered, and her eyes shimmered with something dangerous and exhilarant. Clarke’s skin heated as the flush encompassed her entire body.

“To my knowledge,” Lexa continued. “Your father’s accounts are more or less accurate, but he was mistaken on a few things.”

“Oh?”

Clarke stared at the carpet in front of her. Cool breath ghosted over her neck. “We’re not inherently dangerous,” Lexa whispered.

Clarke swallowed down her impending desire. “No?”

Lexa traced the delicate slant of Clarke’s neck with her fingers, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake. “We need blood to live,” Lexa hummed. “But, I discovered that we do not need to kill to acquire it.”

“A bite doesn’t kill?” Clarke’s gaze stopped on a stray loop protruding from the otherwise flawless rug, and as irritating as the slight imperfection was, it was simpler to focus on than the seductive woman next to her.

“Sometimes it can-” Lexa’s touch continued its torturous trek downward. “But we don’t require much to survive.”

“So-” Clarke’s breath caught in her throat, and she finally tore her focus from the floor to the brightest eyes she’d ever had the pleasure to witness. “You could potentially feed on the same person for months and not harm them?”

“Years.”

“Oh,” Clarke little more than breathed as a firm hand came to rest on the apex of her thigh.

“I’d never ask you to do that for me. Never.”

Though Lexa’s voice was barely above a whisper, Clarke welcomed the gravity of her words. She lunged forward, entangling her fingers in soft hair and pulling that magnificent woman towards her. Despite her leading hurried movements, the embrace remained slow and tender, and Clarke’s entire body responded to the utter comfort and exhilaration surrounding her.

Lexa’s wandering fingers traveled lower. Her hand trailed down and down, so low, she had to break their lengthy kiss to kneel at Clarke’s feet. She locked eyes, asking silently if it was appropriate to continue, and Clarke responded with an urgent nod of her head.

Lexa’s accompanying smile was as devious as it was earnest. Her deft fingers worked at the first layer that needed to be shed. Lexa pulled off Clarke’s leather boot, and a resounding thud echoed in the bedroom.

“Dear lord,” Lexa smiled as she brandished Clarke’s folding knife. 

More than a little bothered by the distraction and quite desperate to get on with it, Clarke reached into her bodice and pulled out her hunting knife. She threw it to the side, smiling proud and provocative at the gentle thud of a blade perfectly striking wood. Lexa’s luscious lips parted, and at the soft gasp that left her lungs, Clarke revealed her final hidden weapon strapped to her thigh. She set her loaded and ready pistol gingerly yet swiftly on the bedside table.

“Anything else hiding in there?” Lexa mused.

Clarke silenced the tease with a demanding kiss, her hands seeking the closures behind Lexa’s back.

*******

Lexa dipped her pen in the inkwell and scratched away at her journal. 

The evening with Clarke lasted well into the darkness of the night, and despite her efforts to maintain a grasp on her composure, Lexa’s hand froze. She gripped the handle tight, fluttering her eyes shut as memories of the previous hours flooded her mind.

Clarke, so full of life and vigor, flushed and writhing beneath her. Lexa brought her hand to her lips. She could still feel all that soft and delicate skin; she could hear those slight gasps of pleasure accompanying every touch. She could still smell the modest florals of Clarke’s cologne as they laid in bed after, embracing and conversing about everything.

Lexa pulled in a slow and calculated breath before resuming the log of her life. After recording her encounter with Clarke, Lexa paused to recharge the ink in her pen. She tapped the tip to her lip, rolling her neck in circles as she deliberated how to continue.

News of Mr. Cage Wallace’s intentions had reached Lexa weeks ago, thus prompting her return to Shibden Hall, but the manner in which he aimed to achieve his goal had only come to light this very night. Clarke revealed much in their post-love fervor.

But in truth, it came as no shock that he was the culprit who initially informed Clarke of a dark creature in Halifax. That it was he who plotted to use Miss Griffin to end her life. With Lexa out of the way, Mr. Wallace undoubtedly assumed he could persuade Tris of anything, even selling away part of their estate. 

His confidence knew no bounds.

Lexa’s pen flew across the paper, logging the revelations in hurried yet precise figures. The facts, her suspicions, his potential motives. She recorded it all before mulling over possible solutions. 

Wallace must be stopped, once and for all, but how? How could she persuade him to end his futile thirst for more? The man didn’t even have the decency to meet with her. He had denied every request she’d sent. Refused to see her after five o’clock when he knew damn well that she could not-

The pen clattered to the wooden floor as the glaring epiphany fulminated with exquisite clarity. Wallace knew what she was.

Lexa retrieved her dropped pen in silence and sat back in her writing chair, mouth open in shock. How had she glanced over such a pertinent detail? Mr. Cage Wallace, the most powerful man in Halifax yet dense as a doorknob, knew she wasn’t human. A fact that few did. No one beyond her sister, and now Clarke, knew the truth. Not a soul. 

And there was only one way he could have known. He must have arranged all of it, the whole plot to damn her to darkness. Lexa took pen to paper, sorting through the most disturbing revelation.

“Must you be so frantic? I can hear the scratch-scratch-scratching through the walls.”

Lexa dipped her pen once more, not bothering to look up. “I cannot be blamed for the speed in which my mind works.”

Tris’s sigh permeated the room. The old wooden chair groaned and protested as she settled herself in the corner. Lexa lifted her eyes only enough to glare at the intrusion before continuing her entry.

“You’ve been gone a while. Were you with Miss Griffin this whole time?”

“I don’t see how it is any of your concern.”

“You’re my sister, Lexa.”

Lexa desired nothing less than to idly gossip at the moment. Her mind blossomed with new information, and the beginning of a plan took to roots. She nearly forgot the other presence in the room, not until that familiar tap of an irritated Tris’s foot broke her concentration. Lexa’s shoulders slumped, and her hand stilled.

“I deserve to know what you’re up to,” Tris prodded. “Your _nature_ affects me too. Or are you so self-involved you’ve forgotten that?”

“My nature?” Lexa slammed her pen down and stood, toppling her chair with her quick movement. “Are you referring to this curse that was forced upon me, that I have to live with for eternity?”

“What did you mean by that?” Tris implored.

“By what?”

“It was forced upon you. What did you mean by that?”

“What do you think it means? I was attacked. Left broken and bleeding and begging for a death that didn’t come. You really think I sought this out? That I wanted to be damned to the night? To never again see the beauty of roses glistening in the morning sun? To watch every single person I love grow old and leave without me?”

“I-”

Lexa raised a hand, silencing Tris’s retort. “No, you’re absolutely right. This is a life I would have always chosen. Now, I’m so sorry it’s an inconvenience to you, Tris, I really am, but there are more pressing matters that require immediate attention. So if you’re through blabbering on about how my existence _affects_ you, kindly see yourself out.”


	4. Brutum fulmen

Clarke’s madly racing heart stilled as she caught a glimpse of alabaster skin. Shining in the moonlight, so soft and utterly touchable, Clarke’s fingers tingled with the memory of it. Forty-eight hours was far too long to be parted from such beauty and pleasure.

“Miss Griffin,” Lexa greeted with a demure smile and the faintest of kisses on her cheek. Clarke nodded to her footman, and Jasper disappeared into the halls of Shibden, leaving the two women with nothing to keep them company but the silent stars.

After a cursory glance around them to ensure their solitude, Clarke shrouded her arms around Lexa’s neck, devouring her lips in an ardent kiss.

“I have been outdone,” Lexa whispered as they parted. “Your greeting far surpasses mine.”

“It’s not a competition.” Clarke tilted her head with jest. “But if it were, you’re absolutely right. I won.”

Lexa laughed, pure and hearty, and Clarke was keen to forget the world at large and revel in this moment of loving frivolity. But a shadow moved across an upstairs window, and Clarke’s alert senses drew her back to reality. 

“It’s only Tris,” Lexa soothed after a glance towards Clarke’s concern. “She won’t betray us.”

“Are you sure?”

“She’s my sister.”

Clarke inhaled profoundly and forced a smile upon her lips. “You do that sometimes.”

With a modest tilt of her head, Lexa asked, “Do what?”

“Answer questions without any sort of elaboration,” Clarke sighed. “It can be quite infuriating.”

“Really?” Lexa clicked her tongue between her teeth and arched her brow with a smirk. “I shall have to work on that for you then.”

Clarke could not contain the bloom of affection growing in her chest. “Aren’t you the charmer?” 

“Only-”

As one, Clarke and Lexa whirled around, their ears alerted to the approaching commotion. A carriage advanced in the distance, its gig-lamps bouncing with each imperfection of the road.

Clarke locked her trained eyes on the driver. “He’s here.”

“Come.” Lexa grasped Clarke’s hand in hers and led them, with formidable haste, to the drawing-room. 

Rather than choose the more respectable chair across from Clarke, Lexa settled on the same chaise, so very close, and the heat from Clarke’s body leisurely seeped into Lexa’s algid skin.

“Miss Woods,” Brell announced after only a moment of waiting. “Mr. Cage Wallace to see you, ma’am.”

Lexa’s posture stiffened, and Clarke found her own doing the same. “Of course,” Lexa nodded once. “Send him in, Brell. Thank you.”

The mantle clock ticked, echoing a simple cadence in the silent room. Footsteps reverberated on the wooden floor, and Clarke readied her senses. It was the first time since she had admitted her deception to Lexa that she had been in the presence of the man who demanded it in the first place.

Reading her body language, cold fingers wrapped around her own, squeezing her tension away. Clarke allowed herself a small gracious smile that quickly fell as hinges groaned, and the door opened. She regrettably retracted her hand and folded it in her lap.

Cage Wallace sauntered into the drawing-room, posture stiff, chin high, and pompous as if he already possessed the deed to Shibden Hall. 

“Miss Woods,” he gave a half-bow of respect and greeting. His eyes caught Clarke’s, and his lips pulled back in a meager attempt at a welcoming smile. “Miss Griffin, what a surprise.”

Years of practice and training ignited without thought, and Clarke’s shoulders curled in on themselves. Her head ducked low, and she averted her eyes from the man in front of her. She was the perfect picture of an unassuming young lady.

“Good evening, sir,” she all but squeaked.

Mr. Wallace took in their chosen seats, and with an unpleasant grin, spoke, “It looks as if I’ve intruded, but-”

“You have,” Lexa interrupted with profound nonchalance.

“But,” Wallace continued without fault. “I was only responding to an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Lexa bristled. “I am the master of Shibden Hall, and I sent no such invitation for this night.”

A disturbing and victorious smile drew across his face. “You are not the only lady of the house.”

Lean fingers wrapped gently around Mr. Wallace’s forearm, and a familiar woman appeared from the shadows of the hall behind. Though the muscles beneath his layers of clothing tensed, he accepted the gesture and placed a gentlemanly hand upon those fingers.

“Beatrice,” Lexa seethed through a clenched jaw.

“Alexandra,” the younger Miss Woods replied as she held her head high, and Clarke could not help the admiration of the courage of her conviction. “ _I_ have invited Mr. Wallace to our home this evening.”

“Clearly,” Lexa stated with a jaw so tense it must have been on the verge of snapping. 

Clarke need not be sat so close to feel the anger and hatred radiating from her Lexa. Her shoulders were stiff as boards, and her fists clasped so tightly her bones practically groaned under the pressure. 

“He is to be most welcome here,” Tris leveled Lexa with a determined glare.

“Oh,” Lexa gasped with feigned interest. “Do tell me why on god’s green earth I would agree to that.”

Tris swallowed, forging as much confidence as she could under the intense gaze of her sister, and to her credit, her voice merely cracked on the first syllable. “We are to be married.”

“Oh!” Clarke gasped, masking her shock with a delicate hand to her face. “What an-” she cleared her throat. “Occasion this night has turned out to be.”

“Indeed,” Lexa breathed without unclenching her teeth. Clarke slipped her hand, discrete-like, atop Lexa’s, and squeezed with the meager hope that the gesture would bring a small amount of comfort to a strained situation.

But Wallace saw.

“Miss Griffin,” he turned to her with a fire smoldering beneath his dark eyes. “I must admit, your presence here is quite a surprise. Does your mother know the company you keep?”

A flush of heat ignited in her belly. What a cheap dig meant to threaten her. Mr. Wallace informed The Order of Lexa in the first place, and he was well aware of her mother’s deep association with them. But the purpose of that question was not to threaten to tell Abigail of her being there, no. It was to wound. To expose her failure with a glimmer in his eyes.

It had never been more horribly apparent that at no time did he think her capable of her original task. Clarke desired nothing more than to stand up to this pitiful excuse for a man, but Lexa, that marvelous woman, was quicker.

Lexa rose from her seat, crossing her arms behind her back, and Clarke sat in awe of the power and confidence emanating from her.

“Miss Griffin is a guest in my home, and therefore under my protection,” Lexa stated as if it were law. “I will not tolerate threats made against her now, or ever, for that matter.” 

“Apologies, Miss Woods-” Mr. Wallace half-bowed. “I meant no disrespect. I was merely inquiring as to Miss Griffin’s well-being. Surely her family would care to know what sort of…” he paused, sneering. “Creature she is associating with.” 

*******

Lexa narrowed her eyes, and her skin boiled with fury. 

“Mr. Wallace,” Clarke’s meek voice cut through the disquiet of the room. “I thank you for your concern, but I assure you, Miss Woods-”

“You poor girl,” he interrupted. “I should’ve known a delicate flower such as yourself would get tangled up in the charm that is Miss Woods.”

Lexa’s body braced yet again. It took every ounce of her considerable restraint to remain stoic and calm. The nerve of Wallace to speak over Clarke and to presume he knew her. To call her a delicate flower capable of being charmed—preposterous.

Lexa composed herself with a slow breath. But just because necessity won out did not mean Wallace won a free card to speak as he did. 

She caught Clarke’s gaze, sending her the subtlest of winks, and released the hold behind her back. With her arms hung by her sides, Lexa relaxed her body to a more casual posture.

“I find it curious, Cage. May I call you Cage? We should be on a first-name basis if we’re to be related, you and I.” Lexa paused for a brief second, but as Wallace opened his mouth to respond, she spoke over him, ignoring whatever moronic thing he deemed necessary to say. “Regardless, Cage, I can’t stop wondering how it is you know so much about me and my charm. Am I that noteworthy?”

Wallace adjusted the hold he had on Tris’s hand and held his chin high. “You, Miss Woods, are like no other woman.”

“Indeed,” Lexa ardently agreed. She lifted her brow. “But surely, my sister is also an exception.”

Wallace glanced at the woman stood next to him, his confusion humorous if not for the dire situation at hand.

“You are betrothed to her, are you not?” Lexa explained as she would a child. “Certainly you harbor such kind sentiments towards Beatrice.”

Once more, he opened his mouth to respond, and once more, Lexa ignored it. “Of course,” she sighed slowly, preparing for quite the verbose counter. “If you were merely using her to produce a legitimate male heir in the hopes that you would lay a greater claim to Shibden than I, perhaps you wouldn’t harbor the same sentiments. My dear little sister would then only be a pawn in your rather pathetic game to outdo me. Cheap tricks, Mr. Wallace. Cheap tricks.”

Wallace’s cheeks deepened in color. “I-”

Brell entered with a tray of tea, and Lexa interrupted him yet again. “And tell us, for I am so very curious, you see,” Lexa crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is it that after—what was it, Brell, four? Four notes?”

Brell, the unflinching woman, never faltered in her task and only raised her head to correct Lexa. “Seven, ma’am.”

“Seven? Good lord,” Lexa feigned surprise. “Seven comes off a bit assertive doesn’t it? Oh well, desperate times, Brell.”

“Ma’am,” Brell dipped her head before exiting the drawing-room, and Lexa turned back towards her target.

“So why now, Cage? Why, after seven notes, finally accept an invitation to my home? It’s almost as if you were afraid. Are you afraid of me, Mr. Wallace? Scared of what this—how did you so eloquently put it—this _creature_ might do if you were left alone with me?”

Lexa strode across the room like a tigress stalking a helpless barasingha. She savored the alarmed gasp and the way his body tightened. She had him.

“You do not frighten me,” he seethed.

Lexa dipped her chin and sunk her voice low and assertive. “The uptick of your heartbeat and your shallow breaths tell a different story, Cage.”

Wallace separated himself from Tris, retreating from Lexa’s cool attack, but the dark wooden wall prevented escape. Lexa leaned in with almost a whisper. “I know it was you.”

Wallace tilted his chin up, a meager attempt to establish dominance in a situation he’d clearly lost. His quivering voice projected that defeat. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lexa remained close, locked in a scrutinized stare down with the man she was sure was responsible for her cursed life. But he did not waver.

“Indeed.” Lexa clicked her tongue between her teeth and released her prey. She stepped back and once again crossed her arms behind her back.

“Well, Miss Griffin,” Lexa allowed her face to soften and smiled at the deceptively formidable woman sat on her couch. “I suppose we should leave these two. I’m sure the newly engaged have much to discuss.” 

Clarke bounded from her seat in a flash and dipped her head in a polite yet silent goodbye before scurrying out the door. Lexa made to follow, but before she exited the room, she caught her sister’s glance.

Tris stood tall and cold, not even a tremble in her steely eyes. Lexa nodded once, curt and finite, and left her younger sibling with her new fiancé.

*******

“What are you doing?”

Clarke stood behind Lexa and ran her hands, slow and purposeful, down Lexa’s back, her fingers dragging over the soft blanket that covered her.

“Recording,” Lexa mumbled as the scratch of pen on paper continued to engulf the room.

“Do you write down everything?”

“Usually.”

Clarke nodded to herself. It did seem like a valuable trait, immortalizing her immortal life. There could only be so much a person could recall with their mind alone. Clarke was not surprised her immensely intelligent and thoughtful lover had come to that conclusion.

Clarke leaned over, scrutinizing the odd symbols and pattern of numbers and letters covering the pages. “It’s written in code.”

“Of my own making.”

“Will you teach me?”

“One day.”

At long last, Lexa set her quill on the desk, and Clarke dashed at the opportunity, placing a quick kiss to the corner of Lexa’s lips. Lexa turned into the embrace, catching Clarke’s mouth before it could retreat. Clarke slid her hands down the front of the blanket, sneaking in to caress the naked skin hidden beneath.

Heavens, Lexa felt exquisite. Her ivory skin glowed in the soft candlelight, and Clarke deepened their kiss. 

A knock reverberated through Clarke’s room, and with no hesitation, her door swung open.

Clarke startled back, eyes frantically searching for a gown or anything to cover her naked form. While Clarke staggered with panic, Lexa remained seated, proud and calm with nothing but a blanket to hide her as Abigail Griffin sauntered in.

“Clarke?” her mother called. Her eyes landed on Lexa. “Clarke!” 

“Mother,” Clarke exclaimed as she wrapped a gown around her. She prayed her cheeks were not nearly as flushed as they felt. “I’m here.”

Abby stood aghast just a few feet into the room. “Clarke?”

“Repeating my name isn’t going to answer any of your questions, Mother,” Clarke exhaled.

Abby’s eyes darkened, and she leveled a dangerous glare at Lexa. “What have you done to her?”

“You know as well as I do,” Lexa stated with a calm that made Clarke envious. “That Miss Griffin does nothing she does not wish to.”

“You foul, soulless, demon. Bewitching my daughter-” Abby reached behind her and brandished the loaded pistol she always carried. She locked aim, her finger curling around the trigger.

Clarke leapt in front of the desk, and her arms expanded in protection. “Mother! Lexa is no demon.”

“Good lord,” Lexa peeked from around Clarke’s body shield. “The disguised pistols are a Griffin family trait. Fascinating.”

Clarke’s mouth dropped open as she turned to admonish Lexa for her quick wit. “What are you doing?” she hissed as Lexa merely raised a haughty brow.

“Mother-” Clarke glared at Lexa, begging her to stay silent, and turned towards the weapon still aimed with deadly precision. “We’ve been fooled.” 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Abby jeered through gritted teeth. “You’re protecting the creature with your very body.”

Clarke held her hands aloft, placating with her mother. “Lexa is not what you think.”

Abby steadied her grip on the heavy weapon. “Is she not a vampire?”

“Oh-” Lexa peeked under Clarke’s protective arms again. “I am.”

Clarke rolled her eyes to the wooden ceiling and heaved a great sigh. Could Lexa possibly make this situation more complicated? After a steadying breath, Clarke tried once more to reason with her mother. “They’re not all what we thought.”

The pistol wavered in the air, and in Abby’s silence, Clarke rallied an appropriate argument. “They’re not all inherently evil. Lexa shares the same morals she did from before. She wishes no harm upon anyone. Mother, she has a soul, and it is as flawless today as it was the day she was born.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“She need not speak it with words. I know it true in my heart.”

Abby’s will faltered, and her aim wavered. “You trust her with your life? _My_ life?”

“I do.”

“Clarke-”

“Mother, she was a victim,” Clarke pulled in yet another breath to steady herself. “Cage Wallace arranged it. He cursed her to a world of darkness, and he then used me—us. He wanted us to commit murder.”

The mechanical clicks echoed throughout the tense atmosphere as Abby lowered her weapon. She scratched at her worried brow. “That is a serious accusation.”

“It’s true-” Clarke capitalized on Abby’s dropped guard and rushed to her, wrapping her free hand in hers. “It’s all true.”

“And have you the proof?”

“Not at the moment, no-” Clarke shook her head. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to believe you.”

Clarke’s heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach. Her shoulders sank. “Mother.”

“I don’t want to believe you-” Abby caught Clarke’s chin, forcing her gaze to meet hers. “But I trust you. You’ve never led with anything but your truth, Clarke, and it has not led you astray these years. This-” she glanced at Lexa and back again, clearly noting both their states of nakedness. “This will take some adjustment on my part.”

Clarke released a heavy sigh of relief. 

“If Mr. Wallace is, in fact, a deceiver,” Abby continued. “If he’s proven to manipulate, well…”

“I know,” Clarke nodded, and she did. Cage Wallace was a powerful man in Halifax, some would argue the most powerful, and it would require steadfast faith in their conviction to see him brought to justice. 

“You will need the evidence,” Abby sighed.

“We’re working on that,” Lexa’s sure voice called from the desk she still sat behind.

Abby paused and raised a disbelieving brow. She appraised Clarke in her current state, her eyes flicking to the mess of tangled sheets and articles of clothing tossed about. Under the scrutiny of a mother’s eye, Clarke pulled her gown tighter. “We set a plan in motion this very night,” she assured.

“Do be careful.”

“I will, Mother,” Clarke promised. “Thank you, Mother.”

With a final glare that only mothers possessed, Abby exited the room. Clarke followed her retreating footsteps, twisting the key with hurried fingers. She leaned against the now locked door and buried her face in her hands.

“Are you alright?”

Clarke released a mortified groan as she lowered her hands. Lexa, so beautiful, so utterly perfect, still sat perched on the desk chair, and Clarke could only muster a soft shake of her head and a small shrug.

“In all honesty,” Lexa admitted. “That could have gone much worse.”

The earnestness in Lexa’s voice and the impassive delivery tossed Clarke’s last bit of composure across the room. Her laugh was long and melodious, and within moments, Lexa matched her grin.

“I cannot believe she just walked in like that,” Clarke stuttered through her laughs. She pushed from the door and stopped in front of the desk, resting her hip on the corner.

“She did storm in here with a rather haughty air about her,” Lexa nodded. Her fingers, cold and hard, dug into Clarke’s waist and pulled her to her lap. “And that pistol!” Lexa exclaimed. “Were all you Griffins brought up to carry deadly weapons on your person?”

“Honestly?” Clarke shrugged. “Yes. We were.”

They laughed, and in their shared joy, Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa. She hung her body loose and rested her head in the crook of Lexa’s neck. They remained like that for a few moments—Clarke nuzzled safely in the embrace and Lexa skating her capable fingers up and down Clarke’s back, leaving a trail of relief and comfort.

Despite the caring gesture, Lexa’s unease was apparent. The shoulders Clarke clung to remained taught and stiff, but she said nothing. Not that it was necessary. The evening, though it went to plan, had been wrought with worry, so Clarke was more than eager to allow this soothing moment to linger for as long as possible.

Only the passage of time would tell if their success was imminent. 


	5. Carpe noctem

Perched on the roof of Shibden Hall, a secret spot she'd discovered long ago in her youth, Lexa gazed down at the disquieting sight below. Her dear little sister ascended the gig step, assisted by the one man who Lexa considered an enemy. It was unbearable, the thought of his fingers on Tris's skin, of his very presence so close to her, unattended.

And yet, Lexa could do nothing.

"Do you still think it will work?"

Clarke released the folds of her dress, splaying the swaths of bright fabric along the dark roof, and sat. Lexa smiled to herself as she admired the vibrant eruption of colour. How lucky she was to have met this remarkable woman. A woman so capable and surprising, who matched Lexa in all the right ways, yet challenged her just as much. A woman who, clad in a marvelous pink dress, could maneuver along the slanted shingles of the roof as if she were merely on the surest path on the ground.

"Oh, yes," Lexa nodded as she followed Clarke's astute gaze. The carriage below rattled and rumbled away from the protection she and Shibden could offer. "If there is one thing Wallace possesses, it is an appalling amount of pride, and pride is a weakness all too easy to exploit."

Clarke turned towards her, providing ample eye contact, and in those blue eyes, dark yet vibrant in the moonlight, Lexa saw the truth. She lowered her chin, allowing a subtle smile to grace her lips. "I sense you already knew that."

"I did," Clarke sighed as the carriage vanished around the corner. "I also know that speaking reassurances aloud can be good for the soul."

Lexa's unbeating heart sank to the depths of her stomach. A soul. Something she no longer possessed. It didn't bother her often. She had accepted the nature of her reality years ago, but this relationship had escalated to something more profound than Lexa could have ever imagined. Clarke deserved to know the truth.

"Clarke-"

Clarke silenced her with a firm shake of her head and a defiant smile. "I argued with my mother about this. Don't make me argue with you. You have a soul, Lexa."

And though it was not in her nature to concede an argument so promptly, Lexa recognized the futility of this one before it began. She smiled back, allowing her heart to retain its residence in the pit of her stomach, and nodded, "Very well."

Clarke's scrutiny was swift and thorough, but Lexa was a master at conquering her emotions and gave nothing away. Satisfied with Lexa's admittance, Clarke exhaled.

"So," she started. "How much longer will this game of waiting continue? It's been a week since their engagement, and my fingers long for something to do."

Lexa turned to her, haughty brow raised high. "Have I not kept those fingers busy enough?"

"Miss Woods!" Clarke clasped a dainty hand to her chest, and a bloom of crimson burned into her pale skin. "I will not tolerate such words. I am a lady of respect, and impure insinuations should not be uttered in my presence."

"Apologies, Miss Griffin, for any slight upon your delicate ears," Lexa smirked. "I was merely referring to the lessons of my written code. I was not aware such things were inappropriate."

Clarke's flush blossomed further, and Lexa suspected her grasp on this little play was faltering. Lexa could contain her laughter no longer, and the moment she let it slip, Clarke joined her.

When their snickers tapered off, Lexa stood and extended her hand. She set Clarke firmly on her feet before dipping low. Lexa cradled Clarke in her arms, and Clarke nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Lexa's boreal skin never felt warmer.

She adjusted her hold, assuring Clarke was secure, and took the few steps towards the edge of the roof. She stood on the precipice for a moment, and Clarke tensed in her arms.

Lexa stepped over the edge.

The air swirled around them, blanketing their bodies in a cool torrent, and Clarke's grip tightened. Lexa's knees bent upon landing to absorb the impact of their leap. She set Clarke upon the solid ground, leaving a solitary hand to steady her in case her knees grew weak.

But Clarke's stance did not waver, and she simply dusted unseen dirt from her skirt and placed her hands upon her hips.

"That was excessive."

"Nonsense," Lexa dismissed. "It was the quickest way down."

"And why was there a need for haste when the window sat open not ten feet away?"

"I-" Lexa cleared her throat. It had been far too long. "I must regrettably leave you now."

Lexa witnessed Clarke's hunched posture and sudden frown. She hastened to correct her disappointment. "But only for the night, I must-"

"Feed," Clarke finished for her.

Lexa desired not to discuss this unfortunate reality any further than necessary, and Clarke seemed to understand.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she blessedly changed the subject.

"If you would like it," Lexa nodded.

"You know I would."

Lexa leaned forward, capturing Clarke in an ardent kiss. She pulled away slowly, cherishing the heat retained upon her lips from their embrace. She brought the back of Clarke's hand to her lips and pressed an unhurried kiss there. "Then, I shall call on you after sunset."

*******

The drawing room of Crow's Nest was alight with laughter and warmth. The two women sat beside one another, caught in the throes of an engaging story.

"No, surely not!" Clarke exclaimed, setting her teacup atop its saucer. The clink of porcelain did nothing to interrupt the raucous story being told before her.

"I assure you, I did," Lexa chuckled. "I was a bit of a rebel in my youth."

Clarke shook her head and laughed once more. These moments were dear to her, and she felt so full of love and utterly perfect. It was so ordinary—lounging on a couch, exchanging stories of their past. No monsters, no conspiracies, no threat of death upon them. It was nice.

But despite their casual visit and the frivolity in the air, Clarke could not ignore the threat looming near. Her timeline was becoming stressful. As far as she was aware, Mr. Wallace had not reported back to The Order that she was cavorting with the very creature she was tasked to slay. However, it was only a matter of time before they inquired about her progress, and she required proof of Mr. Wallace's deception before that occurred. For her sake, and Lexa's.

But Clarke had no intention to mar their jubilant mood and smiled, "I would have liked to see that."

"No need for worry, Miss Griffin," Lexa winked, devilish and seductive, and she closed the minuscule distance between them. "That rebel tends to rear her head every now and then."

An emphatic knock sprung them apart, and Jasper pushed open the heavy door.

"A note," he held a folded piece of paper aloft. "For Miss Woods, ma'am."

Clarke retrieved the letter. "Thank you, Jasper."

He bowed his head, and without a word, left them alone once more.

Clarke settled back upon the couch, her legs close enough to touch Lexa's, and handed over the note. The air in the room shifted and grew grave. They were both aware of what the letter's contents would be.

Lexa unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the words with incredible speed. "Tomorrow night." She relinquished the note to Clarke. "It shall be done tomorrow night," Lexa repeated.

"It is confirmed?" Clarke read the note for herself. "The evidence. It is there?"

"We shall give him one opportunity," Lexa nodded when Clarke was finished reading.

"Tomorrow night," Clarke sighed, the anticipation bubbling to the surface. "It's almost over."

*******

Lexa matched Clarke's stride with ease and familiarity. Their hands clasped together, and the shared silence was calm and comfortable. The moon sat low in the sky, only just rising, and its light cast the grounds in an exquisite cool glow.

Upon the horizon, appearing from the low fog in the distance, another couple strode on the garden path.

"Ah, Mr. Wallace," Lexa greeted. "Tris! Enjoying the fine scenery Shibden has to offer?"

Wallace scowled at their clasped hands, but Lexa did not retreat. "Much so," he offered through clenched teeth.

Lexa caught Tris's gaze. The younger Woods nodded, discrete-like, and gently led Wallace down a nearby path. But before they escaped, Lexa called out, "Mr. Wallace, a moment."

His feet planted firmly on the path, and his back stiffened as he turned.

"Something has been troubling me," Lexa said.

"Oh?" Wallace exclaimed as politely as he could muster.

"Perhaps you could clear it up for me?"

His gaze flicked upward, and his foot fidgeted on the ground. "Clear what up?"

"Your account of the eighth of April, 1822."

Wallace's lips pressed into a thin white line, and he did not speak.

"Lost for words?" Lexa took a single step forward. "Allow me to assist you. It was a dreary day, the rain had just cleared, and the sun threatened to burn away the fog. A young man—that is you, Mr. Wallace, in case that wasn't clear—proposed marriage yet again, and just as the previous proposals, this one was rejected. And instead of taking it like a gentleman, he swore vengeance."

Wallace's face flushed red with rage, emboldening Lexa to continue.

"But this man did not possess the courage of conviction to enact said vengeance himself, oh no. Too dirty. Too hands-on. So he dabbled in something he knew little of. A world of monsters and dark deeds. You see, in his great hubris, he thought he could control it, and he made a deal."

Wallace's flushed skin highlighted his corded neck. His free hand clenched in anger, turning his knuckles white. Ten years ago, Lexa might have tried to ease the situation, to avoid an explosion of male ego and testosterone, but not tonight. Tonight, she was well aware of her upper hand.

"But," Lexa stated. "What the man didn't know was that the monster, at the last moment, saw through the facade. He spared the woman yet cursed her to a dark existence."

"You have quite the imagination, Miss Woods," Wallace seethed.

"You deny this?"

"Vehemently."

"I see, well," Lexa clicked her tongue. "That's unfortunate for you. I did so hope you would confess."

Clarke squeezed Lexa's hand, gifting her with a bout of determination. "Alas," she hummed. "Secrets do not stay hidden on these grounds. Shibden never sleeps."

In a flash of movement that even caught Lexa unaware, Tris removed her hand from Wallace's arm and reached into the breast pocket of his coat. She brandished a small leather-bound book.

"You scribble in your journal louder than my sister." Tris took a bold step away.

"That is mine, Beatrice," Wallace snarled, swiping his hand at the air in an attempt to recover his diary. "My private journal-"

"Cage, dear," Tris soothed. "We are to be married. What is mine is yours, and yours is mine."

His muscles coiled as he lunged for Tris, but Lexa was far quicker. She shielded her sister from his attack with ease. Protected from her fiancé, Tris handed the journal to Clarke.

"It's in here?" Clarke asked, thumbing through the pages.

Tris nodded, glaring at Wallace the entire time she spoke. "He kept a detailed account of the lies he told The Order, how he spun the truth, the vampire who turned Lexa, all of it. I read it all yesterday."

Clarke snapped the journal shut. "Many thanks for the truth, Mr. Wallace."

"You," he sneered. "I should've known a weak-willed woman would never be able to do what needs to be done. Your father would be horrified. Be sure to send my regards-"

Wallace whipped his hand behind his back, brandishing a pistol. His aim was swift, and Lexa lunged to attack. But she needn't bother. Clarke already had a weapon aimed, her sights locked with precision and ease.

"Now, now, Mr. Wallace," Clarke shook her head. "There is no need to shed blood this night."

His nostrils flared as he took in his position. Lexa stood at the ready, poised to launch an attack at the drop of a pin, and Clarke held her weapon with confidence that would inspire fear in even the bravest.

He had lost.

Wallace lowered his pistol, and Clarke indifferently relinquished it from him. "Your fate will be decided by the Order," Clarke confirmed.

Lexa knew little of The Order to which Clarke belonged, but Wallace's ashen face and low whimper told her everything she needed to know.

"Get off my lands," Lexa commanded.

Being the meager coward he was, Wallace scurried down the garden path.

"Oh, and Mr. Wallace," Tris called. "I do believe this engagement is terminated. It's for the best, you know."

Wallace tucked tail and ran, and Lexa kept her gaze locked until she sensed him no longer.

"Is he gone?" Clarke stood next to Lexa, her warmth a welcome comfort in the night.

"I do not sense him anymore."

Tris giggled, breaking the tension of the moment with surprising ease. "That was exhilarating," she laughed.

"Indeed-" Lexa placed a hand upon her sister's shoulder. "Well done, Tris. You played your part without fault."

"Yes-" Clarke wrapped a very surprised Tris up in an immense hug. "Thank you, Miss Woods. I would have never secured the proof I need to expose his fraud without you."

Tris patted Clarke's back, a clear indication she was done with the embrace. "What happens now?"

"I deliver this to The Order-" Clarke waved the journal about. "We do not take kindly to being used as common assassins."

"What will happen to Mr. Wallace?" Tris asked.

"There are procedures in place," Clarke noted. "The Order's pockets run deep. I suspect Halifax will soon be surprised by a truly scandalous affair revealing Mr. Wallace as an unsavory fellow. I'd be amiss if I didn't say he'll spend the rest of his days in prison."

Clarke caught Lexa's gaze. There was a fire burning alight behind those azure eyes, and Lexa's desire ignited.

"Oh," Tris covered her mouth with an exaggerated yawn. "I'm due for a good night's sleep. Forgive me if I excuse myself." She smirked at Lexa before sauntering down the path to the house.

"Alone at last," Clarke's voice was rich with lust. She stalked forward, her lips parting with the slow smile that built until she stood just before Lexa.

A lone curl hung loose, framing Clarke's eye. Lexa tucked the stray strand behind Clarke's ear, and allowed her fingers to trace the curve of her jaw. Her touch lingered at the hollow of Clarke's neck. Clarke's pulse quickened beneath her fingertips as Lexa leaned forward. Clarke met her in the middle. The kiss escalated urgently. Clarke was far stronger than she appeared, and Lexa's back collided with the tree behind her.

*******

The road before her lightened with shades of pale oranges and crimsons. Clarke slowed her pace, eager to observe the sunrise. Being in love with a creature of the night had its favors, but one thing she missed was the sunlight.

Over the past few weeks, she had seen less and less of it, her nights spent in the arms of the woman she loved and her days spent in her own bed, catching up on lost sleep.

It was all worth it though, the dark nights, the passion and love that consumed them. Lexa herself had an air of ease about her, ever since Clarke had turned the journal over to The Order.

Only two days passed before Mr. Cage Wallace had disappeared. His money and lands mysteriously transitioned to his brother. He seemed much more amenable than Mr. Wallace, and Halifax was in good spirits that the Wallace fortune and name were in good hands.

Though Mr. Wallace's affairs were in order and the gossip of the town, his fate was an entirely different story. No one spoke of the man, not even The Order. Clarke suspected she'd never learn the details of consequence about him. Secret societies valued their secrets.

The brush beside the road rustled.

Clarke's alert senses snapped to the ready. Years of training commanded her muscles without thought, and adrenaline coursed through her veins, preparing her for a battle if the need arose.

"Blessed morning, Miss Griffin."

Breath prickled the hairs stood on her neck as the unfamiliar voice permeated her ears. A powerful grip landed upon her shoulder, preventing her from turning despite Clarke's struggle.

"I have heard you are a friend of Miss Woods," his voice was thick with an accent she could not identify, but it dripped of power.

Clarke's fingers traveled to the centre of her bodice, pressing aside the fabric to reveal her hunting knife.

"Who did you hear that from?" She cooly asked as she gripped her deadly weapon.

"Does it matter?" His fingers dug in a fraction harder, and Clarke grimaced with the accompanying pain.

"I suppose not." Before the final word left her mouth, Clarke ducked low, ridding herself of the forceful grip, and whirled around. The blade pressed against alabaster skin, and the sight of this stranger pulled a gasp from her lungs.

He was tall with a handsome face. Ashen and sharp. He reminded her of Lexa, but he possessed none of her warmth and spirit.

Fear tangled in her throat.

"You are a devilish one, are you not?" He laughed, and the blade danced up and down his throat. "Your father was right about you."

"Gavriil?"

The thought detonated in her soul. Clarke had been suspicious of the name ever since Lexa read her father's journal. The way she reacted to it yet said nothing further. He was the one—the one to curse her to an immortal life.

Gavriil nodded in confirmation.

"What do you want?" Clarke dug her sharp blade in a little further.

"Relax, my child. I do not wish to harm you."

Clarke scoffed. When had anyone in the history of the world truly relaxed when those words were spoken? Not a soul. So Clarke kept her knife in place, ready and willing to flick her wrist and spill blood if she felt threatened.

"I regret little in my long life, but there is something in my recent past that haunts me," he continued, not the least bothered by the razor-sharp edge pressed to his throat.

"Lexa." Clarke's wrist tensed, digging the knife deeper. His ivory skin depressed beneath the blade, but it did not break through. Yet.

Gavriil's eyes locked with hers, the depths of them alarming. "I have established a system, you see. To feed without disrupting the lives of humans. Powerful people find willing prey for me."

"Willing prey?" Clarke choked on the words. Her stomach twisted with disgust. "I do not believe it."

"Are you yourself not intrigued by Miss Woods? Does not the thought of her immortal kiss delight you?"

Clarke flexed the fingers around the handle of her hunting blade as her eyes tightened, and Gavriil raised a dark brow in triumph. "Ten years ago," he explained. "An anonymous contact informed me of willing prey. I knew not of his true intentions until it was too late."

Clarke's skin grew hot as she recalled Lexa's tale. How she came into the world of darkness, without a mentor, and alone.

A bead of sweat descended her back. She despised this creature before her. He attacked the woman she loved, left her with that scar upon her neck that she always covered out of a sense of shame.

Ending his long life would be simple. A single flick of the wrist would spill his blood, weakening him, but it would not be enough to slay the creature. No, she would then drag his bleeding body to the field nearby, secure him to a fence post with the rope she spied by the side of the road a few yards back. She would stand guard, waiting patiently for the fiery power of the sun to finish the job for her.

But The Order had not sanctioned this hunt, and instead, Clarke seethed through gritted teeth. "So what is it you want from me? Information on the one who deceived you? Would you like to enact revenge upon Mr. Wallace? I'm afraid The Order has seen to it."

"Your Order. Yes," he smiled, yet there was no good will behind the gesture. The sneer might have successfully hidden the truth from another, but Clarke had a keen mind for deception.

The reason The Order had been silent on Mr. Wallace's fate was standing right before her.

"You killed him already." The words stuck to her throat as an odd sense of remorse pummeled her body. He was an evil man who set out to murder an innocent woman several times, yet Clarke took no joy in having a hand in another human's death.

Gavriil tilted his head to the side, ignoring the press of the blade. "It is good to remember that we all must die, Clarke."

"Some more permanently than others," Clarke shook her head.

He laughed, cold and humorless. "You do so remind me of your father."

Yes, her father—the one who left her to this world of monsters. He trusted Gavriil enough, so she finally lowered her weapon, keeping it at the ready.

"I'm going to ask once more," she threatened. "What do you want from me?"

"You love her."

"You know it to be true. You didn't even ask."

Gavriil dipped his head. "She is not of this world. Not anymore. She will live a long, lonely, and dark life."

"She's not alone." Clarke stood tall, broadening her shoulders with confidence. Lexa would never be alone. So long as Clarke was breathing and Lexa returned her sentiments, Clarke would remain faithful, by her side, every night.

"But she is, my child," Gavriil shook his head with great melancholy. He glanced behind Clarke's shoulder, and Clarke needn't turn to know what he saw. The sun warmed her back, and the oranges and reds were quickly fading to brilliant yellows and pinks.

Gavriil took a step backwards, sheltering in the shadows of the brush. "Though," he smirked before he disappeared. "It does not have to be as such."


	6. In perpetuum et unum diem

Lexa stepped out of the bath, the warm water heating her tepid skin. She dressed in a simple ensemble of dark trousers and a fine blouse. She slipped her arms through her elegant knee-length coat, keeping it unbuttoned for the cold was no worry, and secured the light scarf around her neck. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, a style she was sure she’d never fully come accustomed to, but it suited her well enough. Lexa slipped on her sturdy yet fashionable boots and exited her room with haste and purpose.

“Good evening, Miss Woods.”

“Good evening,” Lexa nodded back. It was terse but customary and kind enough—she had somewhere to be.

The heavy wooden door groaned beneath her palm as she pushed into the night. Her feet crunched along the gravel-coated path, and her pace quickened. Eager was too soft a word.

The tail of her coat billowed behind her with the familiar air. Halifax. It would always smell like home. Lexa skirted through the crowds of people with delicate ease, turning down a lane and dodging more travelers in vehicles with an aloof precision.

She pulled to a stop at the looming building before her. The soft laughter and clink of drinks were inviting and warm. She pushed open the door, its tintinnabulation announcing her arrival. The odor of stale beer and whisky engulfed her, and though she hadn’t indulged in either of those in years, she still recalled the taste.

She paused a moment, allowing her senses to adjust to the cacophony of human existence, but soon enough, her supernatural eyes found their target.

Tucked away in the pub’s far corner, a lone woman sat with her back to the door.

She did not look up from the book she was reading. “Took your time.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Lexa smiled. “I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

Still buried in the book, the woman turned a page. “Only a little while.”

Agitated from the lack of eye contact, but ever the gentlewoman, Lexa slid into the seat across her. “What is it that you are reading?”

At long last, she lowered her book. Blue eyes and honey-colored hair shone in the warm dim lighting. She was beautiful.

“A very good story,” she leaned forward, conspirator-like.

“One I’ve heard before?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Really?”

In place of an answer, she merely smirked, and Lexa raised a brow. “Care to indulge me with your exquisite tale?”

“You know,” she clicked her tongue and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You really should stop talking like that. People will become suspicious.”

“Nonsense,” Lexa dismissed. “My loquacious and at times bombastic idiolect is merely a cute quick. No need to worry.”

“If you say so.”

Lexa slid her hand across the table, grasping those fingers she was so familiar with. “I’ve missed you.”

Clarke’s returning smile was enough to thaw even the most frozen of hearts. “I’ve missed you too.”

“We are a pair, aren’t we? Only separated a few months, yet we’re as lovesick as we were on the day we were first reacquainted.”

“It’s been the longest three months of my life.”

Lexa laughed and soon was joined by Clarke. They truly were a ridiculous pair, but Lexa cared not. She would not have it any other way.

“How strange,” she smirked. “I have seen your face and heard your melodic laugh nearly every day for years, yet still, you take my breath away.”

“Have you always been this charming?” Clarke jested.

“Come, Clarke, surely you must know this by now. The charm is in my nature. It is as natural as the moon pulling the tide.”

Clarke laughed again, and Lexa’s skin tickled with pride. She leaned across the table to be met halfway. Even after the thousands of embraces over the years, it felt as thrilling as the first.

Clarke caught her lip between her teeth as they parted, a nervous gesture Lexa had grown to notice. “I found something after my hunt,” she admitted.

Clarke opened the book she held and flipped to the final pages. “A lone curl hung loose, framing her eye,” she read aloud. “I tucked the stray strand behind her ear, and allowed my fingers to trace the curve of her jaw. My touch lingered at the hollow of her neck. Clarke's pulse quickened beneath my fingertips as I leaned forward. She met me in the middle. The kiss escalated urgently…”

Lexa blinked. “Where-”

“Hidden behind a secret panel. They were only just recovered,” Clarke explained, sliding the journal across the table.

The leather, worn and cracking, felt brittle beneath Lexa’s fingers. She was lost for words, a rare occurrence. “How did you-”

“You really think all these years enduring that Woods charm that I picked up nothing?” Clarke leaned forward once more, her voice low and seductive. “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

Lexa swallowed down her sudden desire. The pub bustled with patrons, and now was no time to indulge her sudden hunger. Lexa tore her eyes from the brilliant blue and thumbed through her diary, reliving those few weeks that changed her life.

“Did you read it all?”

“It’s been fun,” Clarke smirked. “Mixing in your view of the events with my own memories.”

“Indeed-”

A vibration interrupted her, and Clarke dug her wretched device from her pocket, reading whatever message she’d just received.

“Humans and their incessant need to be connected to technology,” Lexa murmured under her breath. “It is a trait I’m afraid I’ll never fully understand. Letters work fine enough.”

“As intrusive as it can be-” Clarke tucked her phone away. “It is a great feat of ingenuity. Makes communication so much easier.”

“I suppose,” Lexa admitted, unable to defy her love sat across from her.

Clarke grinned in triumph and sprung across the table, placing a deep and welcome kiss upon Lexa’s lips.

“Appeasing me before you whisk off into the night? Off to galavant through the land to slay yet another monster tormenting the innocent?” Lexa smirked.

“The Order does keep me busy,” Clarke sighed. She caught Lexa’s hand, tightening her hold. “You know, you could just accept the inevitable and join. We make a formidable team, and you already hunt with me far more than I hunt alone.”

Lexa sat back, folding her hands over the table. There was truth in Clarke’s words, but Lexa was a stubborn one. She breathed deeply, inhaling through her nose and feigning considerable thought over the proposition.

“You’re lucky you’re so lovable,” Clarke shook her head with a laugh.

And that did it.

Lexa relented, just as Clarke knew she would, but Lexa gave not a care in the world. She’d learned long ago to accept her life, and for the past nearly two hundred years, she’d even come to love it.

“So, what are we after this time?”

Clarke retrieved her phone and opened her messages, showing Lexa a grainy photo of a dark object she could not decipher. “A nuckelavee was spotted on the coast of Scotland, just north of Crosskirk Bay.”

Clarke glanced around the pub, and when she was certain there were no eavesdroppers lurking about, she leaned forward and whispered, “Anyone they breathe on dies a slow and torturous death.”

Lexa raised her brow. “We mustn’t allow that.”

“We really mustn’t,” Clarke smiled.

“To Scotland, then?”

Clarke nodded, “But first…”

*******

Lexa Woods was fiercely proud of her ancestral home.

Shibden Hall, in all its timeless glory, sat on a vast swath of land peppered with robust trees and perfectly maintained gardens. Its restored roof absorbed the full, shimmering moonlight, and Lexa sighed as she stared at the dazzlingly maintained grounds.

She had left Shibden Hall to her sister; of course, she did. Inevitably, people would notice she did not age. Tris had proved a wonderful master of the house, under Lexa’s careful tutelage.

Tris eventually found a suitable husband, one who loved her and respected her position as the lady of the house. They had two daughters, and after several generations, and with her blessing, the ownership of Shibden Hall passed to the fine people of the Halifax Corporation.

They had done a splendid job, indeed, restoring and maintaining its beauty and history, and it became a tradition of sorts to visit her old home when she was nearby.

A strong, cool hand slid into her own. “As beautiful as you remember?”

Lexa sighed as she took in the grounds. It was nice to remember the history, to pay homage to where she came from, but the past held nothing without her present and future.

Lexa gazed into the eyes of the woman she loved. She leaned in, tilting her head to place a kiss upon the scar Clarke never covered. She wore it as a sense of pride and commitment, and Lexa never felt more loved.

“Always,” she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my wonderful beta @slythleo who, once again, proves she is the greatest hype woman alive.


End file.
